


Merry Friggin' Christmas

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, No Smut, Season/Series 13 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-07
Updated: 2017-12-07
Packaged: 2019-02-11 15:03:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12937815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Dean has a lot of regrets in life. Not telling Crowley what he meant to him could be the biggest one.





	Merry Friggin' Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Written for 2017 SPN Holiday Mixtape  
> Merry Christmas Everyone!

Of all the fucking people Dean could have found himself in love with, a demon had to be the worst. Correction – an arrogant, self-righteous irritating demon to boot. With all Sam’s trouble with Ruby, Dean would have figured they’d learned their lesson about demon bedfellows.

When Dean was cured of his demonhood his only real excuse for dating—fucking, they were just fucking – the King of Hell ended. But it didn’t. Sure, the sex and the hanging out and the drinking ended somewhat, but those feelings never left. Dean liked that obnoxious bastard. Even when he should have ended him, when everything Crowley did reminded Dean that he was just a demon… He cared for the guy. 

He cared for Crowley and he never told him. He bullied him and forced his feelings down to fit into his mental ideal. A hunter, a Winchester – couldn’t care for a demon. Not like that. But no matter how many times he pushed it away, they came back. And now – now Crowley was dead. And Dean had never told him the truth.

When Crowley first died, Dean hadn’t had time to mourn. Crowley was slick, conniving - surely he’d come back. Then Cas died, then their mom got taken and Jack was born. Things weren’t slowing down, so things weren’t as painful. 

And then things slowed, days grew longer, and Dean had more time to think. His thoughts seemed to wander more and more frequently to Crowley. It wasn’t like he could talk to Sam or Cas about it; neither would understand. Sam would tease him about going soft, Cas would just be confused.

So Dean did what Winchesters do best; internalized everything. To the point it ate him up inside. He drank more, he buried himself in hunts, he got angry. It worked, as far as Dean was concerned. People left him alone to his mourning and no one asked questions. Cas and Sam were too busy training Jack to care anyway. If the kid was so perfect, why couldn’t he bring back that fucking demon too? Why couldn’t he give Crowley back? 

Dean didn’t pray anymore. God wasn’t listening. He’d run off with his damn sister, and left the world to burn. Now, alone in his room, Dean drank and read. Sometimes he wrote. He had a stack of letters eight inches high - sometimes nonsensical grieving, some thought out sentences. All to Crowley. It was stupid. Dean knew that. He kept meaning to burn the letters, incinerate them so Sam and Cas would never find out his secret. 

But every night, though he’d promised himself before, Dean found himself just writing another letter to add to the stack. 

‘You know it’s snowing now. The kid — Jack loves it. Thinks it’s magical.  It’s just cold. I don’t think you ever told me if you liked snow. Sure you did, you were a demon and that whole causing pain, snow’s right up your alley. I don’t mind it so much. Bones ache a little more in it now - I’m getting too old for hunting, really. Didn’t think I’d ever make it this long. But I got people I owe for that - You included. I don’t think I ever thanked you for all you’ve done. Not that you’d accept it even if I did. For as arrogant as you are, you never willingly accept a damn thank you.’

Dean hesitated, his vision blurring with unshed tears. 

‘I miss you, man. I should’ve said something. You’re fucking irritating and I wanted to stab you in the throat. But fuck. I miss you, Crowley.’

Dean threw his pen, wiping his eyes. Crying over a fucking demon. Pathetic. 

“Dean?”

Dean scrubbed his face in a weak attempt to hide his crying. 

“What, kid?”

Jack cringed a little, misinterpreting Dean’s tone. 

“Uh—Dinner. Sam has dinner.” Jack ducked his head, rushing out. 

A part of Dean felt bad. The kid was trying, and he was learning despite everything. He was turning into a pretty good boy. Dean pulled himself out of the chair and tucked the new letter into the pile. He shuffled out to the kitchen ignoring Cas and Sam’s stares. 

“Any hunts?” Dean mumbled, opening a beer as he sat. 

“Nope, all quiet. I was thinking about Christmas—“

“What about it?”

Sam scowled. “Well, I know you like it. And it’s at the end of the week. So, since there’s nothing really going on, maybe we do dinner? Get a tree and presents and—“

“Why?” 

“Cause- You—I mean, you used to like the holiday. And I mean, Dean—It’s Jack’s first Christmas.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

Sam’s frown deepened, his brows creasing together. “Whats wrong with you, man?”

“What? Nothing. I just don’t care about celebrating some stupid holiday.” 

“Since when?”

“Since now!” Dean snapped. He rose and shoved his stool under the table before storming off. He slowed down outside the kitchen, trying to calm himself. From the other side of the wall, he heard Jack speak. 

“Did I make him angry again?”

“What? No, Jack. You didn’t. I’m not sure what’s wrong with him right now, but it’s not you,” Sam assured him.

“He’s sad.”

“What?”

Jack cleared his throat. “I said he’s sad. He’s a sad man, he misses someone.”

“Your mother?” Cas suggested.

“Yeah, but—He’s gotten worse since we’ve come closer to finding her. I don’t know that it’s her.”

“Who then?”

Sam made a noise. “Well Crowley died—“

“Crowley?” Jack asked.

“He was just a demon,” Sam said. 

Dean felt fury rise in his stomach. He rushed off to his bedroom, not wanting to hear another word. Crowley wasn’t just a demon. 

Dean slammed the door to his bedroom, flopping on the bed and pulling on headphones. He knew he was being immature, even as he turned up the music loud enough to drown out any possible noise around him. But he didn’t care. 

Hot tears slid down his cheeks from under his closed eyelids, reminding him that as furious as he was, he was mostly just sad. He felt weak, it’d been months. It shouldn’t feel so raw with all of the losses he’d encountered in his life. 

Christmas was a time of celebration. Dean didn’t want to celebrate anything. Not unless he could have all of their friends around. Including Crowley. He wouldn’t stop Sam; if they wanted to give Jack a nice Christmas Dean would just stay out of the way, but he certainly wasn’t going to join. 

***

And he didn’t. Even as he heard the laughter from his brother and Jack and Cas, the twinkle of class ornaments as they decorated a tree, the unnerving lyrics and tunes of various Christmas carols, the sweet smell of cookies and cakes for the holiday season; Dean ignored it all. 

When he wandered into the kitchen or library he kept his head down, ignoring the stares and awkward hello’s from his brother and Cas. 

There was no reason that Christmas hurt so much, no reason Christmas reminded him of Crowley. But it did. Everything reminded him of Crowley these days. And Dean still couldn’t fix it. 

A glance at the calendar told Dean it was Christmas Eve. A glance at the number of beer bottles on his floor could’ve told him that too, of course. As usual, his music was as loud as he could stand it, headphones covering his ears to try and block out the noise of celebration echoing through the bunker halls. Two more days of this shit and he could get some peace in his own home again. 

When the need to eat became too strong, Dean wandered out, keeping his eyes lowered.

The library table caught his attention, overflowing with various treats and flowers. The end though, bare of everything except a few scattered leaves, was what mattered. Dean traced his finger over the knife mark, the last time he’d actually spoken to Crowley. He’d stabbed him — tried to kill him. All in a fit of rage. He wouldn’t have, Dean knew that much, but still. 

“Think we're gonna trust you out there after what you pulled? No. You stay here, you sit down, and you shut up.” Dean shook his head, still touching the hole. His last fucking words to the person he was in love with.

“You can have anything on the table.” Jack’s voice startled Dean out of his thoughts. He yanked his hand away, swallowed hard and turned to the kid. Jack smiled patiently, hugging himself. 

“Sorry, I know you don’t like us talking to you anymore. I— The demon Crowley. Sam told me about him. You miss him.”

“What? No. Don’t talk about shit you don’t understand, kid.” Dean headed back toward his room, brushing past Jack.

“I tried to bring him back,” Jack called, making Dean hesitate.

“I— I tried for you but I couldn’t. I can’t find his soul anywhere, I’m sorry, Dean. I wanted to make you happy again.”

Dean’s shoulders sagged. If Jack couldn’t bring him back — no one could. He nodded, biting back that all too familiar burn in his nose and throat. 

“Thanks for trying.” Before Jack could say anything more, Dean hurried back to his room, appetite gone. 

Dean glanced at his watch as it beeped the midnight hour. It was Christmas. It felt like he couldn’t get drunk - or maybe he was always a little drunk - Dean wasn’t sure anymore. So he kept drinking, hoping sleep would come at some point so he could block out the suffocating waves of pain. 

Blissfully, his eyelids began to sag, his physical exhaustion finally winning out over his busy mental state.

“Don’t fall asleep quite yet, Dean.” 

Dean blinked, his eyes blurred already. When he focused, he saw Chuck standing at the foot of his bed, that frustrating smile plastered on his face. 

“‘M already sleeping,” Dean grumbled, rolling on his side. 

“Actually, you’re not.”

“You left us— No reason you’d be back now.” 

“A Christmas miracle, then,” Chuck suggested. Dean glared at the wall. He turned, staring Chuck up and down. 

“You’re really here.”

“In the flesh. You’re not dreaming. Merry Christmas, Dean.” 

Dean’s fingers tightened on the knife under his pillow. “Gimme one reason why I shouldn’t kick your fucking ass.”

“Because I’m God and you’d never get close enough,” Chuck said simply, making Dean glare harder. 

“But really, Dean. I didn’t need to be around. You have it handled.”

“We lost everyone, Chuck!”

“And you got them all back. I knew you would. You’ll get your mom back too - Jack — he’s an amazing boy.”

“We didn’t get everyone back.” 

Chuck’s smile faded. He clasped his hands together in front of his chest and nodded. “I know. The demon Crowley.”

“Jesus could everyone stop prefacing his name with the demon? Like it makes him less than an angel or a human? He’s just Crowley and he sacrificed himself to clean up your son’s mess. You should’ve put Lucifer away when you were here.”

Chuck nodded, not making any attempt to stop Dean’s yelling. 

“You’re right,” he said when Dean had been silent for a few moments. “It was my mess to clean up, and I just assumed you guys could handle it alone. I’m sorry for that, Dean. Truly.”

“Sorry doesn’t bring back my fr— My friend.”

“No. But, I can.”

A cold settled in Dean’s bones. His hands shook, throat fluttering and closing at Chuck’s words. 

“No— Why would you bring him back? He’s just a demon,” he whispered.

“You miss him.”

“Jack couldn’t bring him back.”

“Jack is powerful. But he’s not God. And he’s not trained. He probably could bring him back some day, but that will take millennia to learn. To control his abilities like that.” 

Dean swallowed, sitting up slowly. “Really, Chuck, why? Why bring him back to me?”

Chuck smiled again. He moved, circling the bed and placing a hand on Dean’s shoulder. 

“Because you deserve it. He’s not coming back quite as you knew him. I’m powerful, but demonic mutation it’s— That’s out of my control even.”

“So what, he’s—“

“Human, Squirrel.”

Dean jumped from the bed. Crowley stood in the doorway, dressed in his normal suit and perfectly shined shoes. His smirk was still in place, eyes narrowed as if he were sizing up a good meal.

“You—“ 

Chuck clapped Dean on the back. “He’s got all his memories, he’s okay. He’s just... An average human with a little more knowledge about demons than he should have.”

Dean opened his mouth to speak, his teeth clicking when he shut it just as quick. No words could explain. 

“I gotta go. My sister is waiting still, so... Merry Christmas, Dean. Tell the others I said hello. And tell Jack— Tell Jack we’ll meet face to face soon.” 

Dean looked over, smiling softly for the first time in months. “Thank you, Chuck.”

Chuck disappeared, and Dean looked back at Crowley. 

“You’re— Back.”

“In the flesh. A Christmas miracle, eh?”

“Crowley, I—“ 

“Don’t, Dean.”

Dean swallowed hard, looking Crowley up and down. “You’re really here.”

“And you’re just as observant as ever.”

Dean’s throat closed, forcing him to swallow around the lump that threatened to choke him.

“Man, I—“

“I know. You don’t need to get sappy. For now… I’m starving. This humanity thing – it’s been a long time, and it’ll take some getting used to.”

“Right, of course. We’ll get you food, sure.”

“Dean.”

Dean stopped, his cheeks heating up. “Sorry. I’m just—I know that you—“

“Food. And then we chat.”

Dean nodded. He fixed his shirt and headed out the door, brushing past Crowley as he did so. Crowley grabbed his upper arm.

“Squirrel—“

Dean stopped, their chests nearly touching.

“I—I know, okay?” Crowley mumbled, sounding unsure of himself. Dean smirked.

“Now who’s getting sappy?” He teased. Before Crowley could respond, he leaned down and pressed a hard kiss to his mouth.

Crowley made a small noise of surprise but returned the kiss, his hand fisting in Dean’s shirt.

When they separated for air, Crowley’s smirk was back in place.

“Merry Christmas, Dean.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Might not be too merry – Sam doesn’t know you’re alive yet. He might try to kill you all over again.”

Crowley laughed. He brushed his fingers over Dean’s hand, meeting his gaze again. “Even as a human, I do love a challenge. Why don’t we go poke a moose this bright winter morning?”


End file.
